Edith led Caitlin and Christiansen into her roomy and well furnished cottage. The main room was filled with finely crafted draperies as well as stacks and stacks of books neatly filling its many bureaus. Christiansen’s eyes darted around to soak in everything. Unaccustomed to luxury, Edith’s relatively modest home must’ve been a new experience for him. It was curious and funny at the same time, the two of them being from different worlds, but their partnership felt right regardless. If anything, she appreciated that the knight was too simple and sweet to foster a desire for wealth and power; his humble background and inability to lie was a refreshing change from the vain, greedy simpletons that comprised the noble families of their world.

“Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Edith asked. “I imagine you’re quite parched.”

“No thank you,” Caitlin said. “Without wishing offense, our mission is time sensitive,” the Princess rarely felt apprehensive about anything, but she wasn’t sure how to begin. How did one describe something so ridiculous? Would Edith even believe them? They followed their host down through a door and down a staircase into the basement. Sunlight from an adjacent window illuminated stacks, rows and piles of books littering the room.

Christiansen picked up a thick tome titled The Auburn Blades: A Compendium and History of the Defenders of Amorado’s Royal Family. She immediately took it from him and shoved it back in its original spot. “Do you have no manners, oaf? I saved your life yet again, and you embarrass me in front of our host. I’m shocked you can even read,” Caitlin hissed at his stupid, surprised face. “You didn’t even ask permission!”

“That’s alright, feel free to take whatever strikes your fancy,” Edith said.

Christiansen’s face lit up with that goofy smile and seeing his dimples extinguished her anger. There was something about him that made it difficult to stay angry at him for long. Caitlin turned away in a huff and crossed her arms.

“You did well back there,” she said, despite her anger. “Tricking them into letting the hostages go. You put your trust in me and remained calm. If not for that, things could’ve been a lot worse.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Only because it was your plan. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

One compliment was more than enough. She didn’t want to inflate Christiansen’s ego any further. “I’ll get right to it. After we dealt with the mercenaries besieging your village, one of them pulled out a gem which proceeded to plant itself in his chest. We thought it killed him, but then he transformed into a hideous monster. We cut his arms off but they regenerated shortly after. He only turned back when we ripped the gem from his chest,” she presented it, just in case she didn’t believe them.

Edith didn’t laugh or command them to leave, which was a positive sign. Instead, she took the gem and examined it closely.

“It’s been a few years, but if what you’re telling me is true, we’re dealing with magic.”

Her matter-of-fact tone told Caitlin this was no deception. “So magic is real,” the knight said. “Wizards used to fight dragons.”

“No wizards releasing lightning from their fingertips. Same for dragons, I’m afraid. Granted, I wasn’t around then, I’m not that old, so I can’t validate it personally,” the excitement quickly vanished from Christiansen’s face when he learned the truth wasn’t so whimsical. “From what I’ve read, learning magic required a keen mind and years of study. It was a rare, opaque art. Once mastered, those with the knowledge and will could call upon power from another world,” she continued.”

“Like the sun?” Christiansen asked. “Or the moon?”

“Not exactly, but it required a conduit, an object with a personal connection to the wielder. With it, they acquired strength, speed, endurance, and wisdom far greater than any mortal. The only way to weaken them is to separate the two, as you discovered with the gem.

It made sense that this was all new to Christiansen, given his lack of intellectual curiosity, but Caitlin was having trouble wrapping her mind around the revelation. Prior to now, she was told magic was nothing more than fables and legends to entertain children. Considering how well informed her parents were and how far reaching their influence was, they must’ve known more. They were either ignorant of magic's existence or the truth was deliberately hidden from her.

“I don’t understand, why didn’t I know about this already? Why didn’t my parents tell me magic was real? Why don’t more people know?” Caitlin asked. “And how do you know all this?”

Twenty years earlier

“Arakhum guide me,” Edith closed her eyes and pressed her head to a door.

Having at last put her infant daughter Helen to bed after a long day of teaching followed by parenting, she was ready to relax. She planned on pouring a cup of her favorite wine and sitting on the porch with a good book, but first she needed to pick one out from her basement library. Tonight called for an old favorite, but which? Medicinal Applications of Redazar? A Comprehensive Account of the Bartering and Trade Union?

Then, it found her. The Legend of Cassandra Silvercloak and the Sword of Sunlight. One of the defining volumes of her childhood, as easy and comforting as a warm, freshly cooked meal from her mother. Edith grabbed the book only to drop it with a terrified yell when she turned and found King Edward Harrison standing before her in full battle regalia.

“M-my lord!” she dropped to one knee. “I apologize, you startled me.”

“It’s quite alright, Edith,” the King was tired, like he’d been surviving on a few hours of sleep every night for at least a few weeks. Dark rings beneath his eyes and dried lips indicated he hadn’t slept much. “Forgive me for being blunt, but I need your assistance. This is a matter of utmost secrecy, but I can make it worth your time and effort.”

She wasn’t sure how he got into the house and down the basement without her detecting his entrance, but no one refused a king. “Anything for you, my Lord. I could never refuse you.”

“You’d consider yourself an expert in history?”

“I like to think I’m well learned, yes.”

“Does that include magic?”

“Magic?” she tried to feign ignorance. “Magic is only found in myths, my Lord.”

“Come now, Edith. There’s no need for deception,” he joked to try and ease the tension, but there was little reassurance or warmth in his eerily calm voice. “I’m not here to threaten you. I believe we can cooperate to achieve a mutually beneficial end. I’ve heard you have a very insightful book hidden somewhere among your volumes, and you can also translate it.”

“My Lord,” she began tepidly. “If this concerns Queen Abigail, I must warn you: if she returns to the realm of the living, she will not be the same person you loved.”

He ignored her plea. “If you’d like, I have a private chamber where we can talk without fear of interruption.”

“This path will only beget further suffering.”

“You know nothing about what I want or what I’ve suffered.”

“What about Prince Nicholas and Princess Mary?” she asked. “Right now, they need you, just as you need them.”

“Enough!” The veneer of civility was shattered by a low scream that shook the shelves and almost made Edith jump. His rage vanished as quickly as it struck, and King Edward’s expression of unnatural calmness was back. “I’d hoped for us to work in a partnership of mutual understanding. I was going to reunite you with your husband, but clearly my kindness is lost on you.”

“Are you going to torture me?” she asked, her voice firm and plain.

“Do you take me for some barbarian who responds to every inconvenience with violence? No, Miss Martin. There are far more effective methods of persuasion, particularly in your case.”

It took everything in her power not to strike him. “Don’t even think about harming her, you sick freak!”

"I have little time for your petty threats, Miss Martin. Give me what I desire or suffer eternally."

The hate in King Edward’s heart burned.

Things varied day to day. Sometimes, he felt a boiling frustration that compelled him to scream until it pained him to speak, other times it was a gnawing, dull ache in the pit of his stomach that made him question the point of life’s basic needs. The one constant was that hatred was always directed at himself. If he’d been smarter, wiser, more perceptive, he could’ve taken some preventative step to protect his Queen. He believed that he was willing to lay down his life to keep his family safe, but the cruel irony was that the opportunity never prevented itself. That reality did little to change Edward’s belief that he was a failure and a coward. A worthless, cowardly weakling who couldn’t protect those closest to him.

But one day, there was a revelation. Edward realized he was not to blame. The coward responsible for Queen Abigail’s death was Arakhum. Despite three centuries of his ancestors sacrificing everything in his name; despite Edward’s three decades of unwavering service to Him and Amorado. Arakhum was either a cruel, uncaring sadist that abandoned His subjects in a world without purpose, or nonexistent.

Taking vengeance on a deity was like trying to halt the wind or rain, but if Arakhum couldn’t be conquered, perhaps He could be defied.

Having convinced Edith to see things from his point of view, she voluntarily went with him to the castle. He hoped for at least a little bit of gratitude, considering he chose the most dignified method of enlisting her in his crusade. Instead, Miss Martin chose to sulk all the way. Not that it mattered. Once Edward had what he needed from her, she'd be spared from whatever drudgery she endured on a daily basis. Most of the others had been nothing but dead-ends, but he had a good feeling about Edith Martin.

“Fancy anything to eat or drink?” he said as they ascended the stairs to the throne room. “We’ll be working through the night, I imagine.”

“I’d rather starve.”

He conceded that petty victory with a snort. If his Auburn Blade was here, he probably would’ve smacked her for that remark, but Edward no longer had a need for them. Nothing in the physical realm could threaten him anymore.

He pushed through the steel doors and into the throne room; spacious, high-ceilinged, and adorned with all manner of war trophies and knightly tableaux; armor, swords, and jewelry, each forming a fragment of Edward’s legacy. The windows to the east provided a landscape of Skystead, while the windows on the west were dominated by the Imanese Mountain.

As he and Edith continued to walk through the ruby red carpeting, Edward happened upon a memory from years ago, when his children were taking their first steps to becoming the warriors they are today. He looked to a marble pillar to his right, where a twelve year old Mary and Nicholas emerged with their small, wooden swords. Nicholas had his black hair, but his mother’s eyes and sense of humor and wonder. Mary had his tenacity and focus, but her mother’s curls, presently kept in a tight bun.

Mary swung left, then right, but Nicholas blocked both strikes. Nicholas sidestepped to attack her from behind, but Mary whipped around and parried, catching her brother just in time. The fight continues with neither able to gain an advantage. Even then, Edward was pleased with their progress. They possessed the same preternatural affinity for combat he developed at their age. Soon enough, they would surpass him, and bring a new level of fear to their enemies. His children disappeared behind a pillar and the memory concluded.

“Are we going to get started?” Edith asked.

“Soon,” Edward walked to the wall behind his throne, running his hand along the brickwork. He moved a few more feet and disappeared inside. As he predicted, Edith followed, undisturbed by his use of illusions. Her eyes roamed over the small, barren space, presumably searching for a window or some other form of ingress.

Edward lowered himself to the floor, folded his legs under his thighs, and closed his eyes. “Begin the translation, and I want everything; every word, every detail, every footnote.”

“It’s going to be a bit difficult to read without a light source, don’t you think?”

How easily he forgot the troubles of mortals. He was going to wave his hand, but something shattered his concentration. He sensed Nicholas and Mary; they were on their way to the throne room. And they weren’t alone. He rose like a lithe predator and spoke; “It appears we’re about to be interrupted, but I believe this can work in our favor; you’ll want to see a proper demonstration.”

Edward sat in his throne with Edith standing beside him.

Across the room, Nicholas and Mary marched in beside her husband, Benjamin Faraday. All three wore full armor and were flanked by around twenty of Amorado’s finest soldiers. Some Edward personally noted for skill and bravery on the battlefield.

“Quite the coalition you two have assembled,” Edward sat on his throne with Edith beside him. He hoped against all logic that his intuition was wrong, that his children still believed in him. “I take it there’s some miscreant who needs gutting and you wanted to invite your father along.”

The coalition continued. Mary never was one to joke around, but Nicholas’s stern expression confirmed his fear. When they were only a few feet away, Nicholas spoke: “In the name of Arakhum and the people of Amorado, you are under arrest, King Edward Harrison the Fourth.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Edward snorted in amusement. “Come now, son, this prank is far too simplistic for your standards.”

“This is no joke, my Lord,” Benjamin said. “Surrender, and this ends without any more unnecessary violence.”

“Unnecessary violence,” Edward’s gaze shifted to the simpleton. “I was unaware the suffering of our enemies troubled you so, Benjamin. Perhaps when some axe-wielding mob batters down the castle door, you’ll have tea and cake ready for them.”

“Enemies?” Mary spat. “They are your people! People you took an oath to protect! People you’ve condemned to torture and death!”

Edward could feel the hate begin to flare in his mind. The situation was far worse than he thought: Mary’s husband was not just a coward, he was also a traitor. He found no joy in vindication. “With what lies has he filled your heads? If I let them go, if the world knew what I was trying to uncover, our kingdom would fall to ruin!” he struck back at Mary. “Can you not see that this common filth wishes to supplant the throne? To take the power that is your birthright? He will undo everything I’ve done for you, for your mother!”

The two were shaken at the mention of their mother, but they used that shock to fuel their resolve, just as he trained them.

“That’s enough,” Nicholas said plainly. “Surrender, or we’ll do what needs to be done.”

“You are free to try,” Edward once again called upon his hate. He allowed it to envelope him, to surround him, until it grew into an all-consuming flame that blinded him. He brought Willbreaker from his scabbard, and the great, silver blade glistened in the morning light. Edward leapt higher and farther than any normal man could, somersaulted in mid-air, and landed between his children and Benjamin. Edward rushed forward, blade held high. He effortlessly dodged one sword, ducked under another, and parried a third. He sliced them down with the grace and speed of a dancer and the ferocity of a berserker’s rage. The King became a blaze of fury, years of rage exploding into a whirlwind of death and crunching metal. Edward sensed danger behind him and whirled around to see one of the traitors brandishing a bow and arrow. He fired, but Edward brought Willbreaker up lengthwise to intercept it, and the arrow split against his blade. Edward took out a dagger from his sheath and returned the favor with a flick of the wrist.

He shifted to his right and saw Mary and Benjamin charging into the fray. He blocked their initial flurry of strikes before his unarmored fist grabbed Mary’s sword and tossed it aside. Edward’s open palm slammed against her chest, sending her sliding towards his throne

“Mary!” The fool cried out.

Edward took the opportunity to grab Benjamin by the throat. He tightened the hold, taking great pleasure in how the fool writhed and choked, and flung him in the other direction.

Edward paused to reflect as the carnage continued. Ending the short-lived rebellion was enjoyable, but the true reward was ridding their family of his son-in-law. How liberating that he no longer had to hide the barely disguised contempt he harbored for so many years. Mary would likely resent him, but, in time, she would be thankful for having been saved from the folly of youthful mistakes.

“Nicholas!”

A cry from Mary shattered his concentration. He was standing in front of his son, Nicholas. Willbreaker had been jammed in his chest as blood spilled from his mouth. Edward looked at his son, almost skeptical of the reality before him.

“No,” a word escaped Edward’s lips. “No, no, no, Nicholas. I-I-I’m sorry, please, you can’t,” with infinite care, he laid Nicholas down, cradling the back of his head. “You can’t leave me, too.”

The throne room fell into silence as warm tears formed in Edward’s eyes, blurring the image of his son’s corpse. For all his strength, all his knowledge, his decades of experience, he couldn’t confront the horror; his only son, a knight so full of promise, left to bleed to death on cold marble. Willbreaker, his mighty blade, the weapon that was supposed to revive his beloved Queen, was now the ultimate manifestation of his failure. As a man, as a leader, as a father.

A rising scream, low and hoarse, shattered the quiet. He looked up and found Benjamin through the haze. “This,” he whispered. “This is all your fault! You turned them against me!”

Slikt!

Another sound of metal ripping through flesh, only now it has come to claim Edward’s life. Mary had driven her blade through his chest. Without Willbreaker in hand, he knew he wouldn’t be able to heal himself; this was the end.

He searched his daughter’s eyes, desperate to find some form of recognition. That she understood, that she forgave him, that she understood his remorse. He found a measure of mercy equivalent to that which he gave Nicholas.

As his body sunk and his strength faded, the magnitude of Edward’s failure came into view. His years of training, his decades of discipline and sacrifice, his plans for a world unbound from mortality, have all been for nothing. Distant illusions of a man who may have never truly existed. His legacy was one of cruelty and filicide. Most sickeningly of all, it is not, as Edward previously believed, the fault of mortality or Benjamin Faraday or Arakhum; only he is to blame. His anger, his grief, his lust for power led, perhaps inexorably, to this: a singular moment in time in which a violent, amoral sadist is struck down by his own daughter.

Edward took comfort in the knowledge that, if there was a life after this one, he would not live in Paradise with Abigail and Nicholas. He would never have to confront his Queen or the son he failed so miserably. His well-deserved torment would never come to pass. Whatever he suffers next would be nothing by comparison.

With his last breath, Edward whispered:

“Lay me down to rest.”